On the wails were a
few colored prints from the Sunday newspapers and one large and fine
photograph of a grizzled old soldier that Uncle John at once decided
must represent "the Colonel."
Having noted these details, Patsy's uncle smoothed back his stubby
gray hair with a reflective and half puzzled gesture.
"It's cozy enough, my child; and I thank you for my welcome," said he.
"But may I enquire where on earth you expect to stow me in this rather
limited establishment?"
"Where? Have you no eyes, then?" she asked, in astonishment. "It's the
finest sofa in the world, Uncle John, and you'll sleep there like a
top, with the dear Colonel's own picture looking down at you to keep
you safe and give you happy dreams. Where, indeed!"
"Ah; I see," said Uncle John.
"And you can wash in my chamber," added the Major, with a grand air,
"and hang your clothes on the spare hooks behind my door."
"I haven't many," said Uncle John, looking thoughtfully at his red
bundle.
The Major coughed and turned the lamp a little higher.
"You'll find the air fine, and the neighborhood respectable," he said,
to turn the subject. "Our modest apartments are cool in summer and
warm in winter, and remarkably reasonable in price.
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